580 thoughts on “Poetry Page IV…”

It’s in my blood can’t you see
And keeps chasing after me.
I feel it flowing like a stream,
Beyond the one In my dreams.
Filling my heart and my veins,
Through my eyes I’m not insane.
The bugs got me and won’t let me be
The trail keeps coming after me.
I’m living life from beginning to end,
Explorations around every bend.
The peril of dangers I must go,
I’m a treasure hunter don’t you know?
It’s not what I do, I am what I Am.

CindyM , I really like ” New One “….congrats on your new grandchild…may you have many years with ( him /her ) to tell all the stories about your chase.
I enjoy your words of poetry too CindyM , friends like you and Jdiggins and others too, inspire me to ” write just one more “……..thank you

Illy ghost, 42, pdenver and focused,
you may have been first,
but I’m certainly not last.
My words on this new page
I’m going to cast.
Cindym I congratulate you
Grandma ‘ ing is a fun thing to do.
I’ve been playing catch up,
Hurry up and wait.
I can’t wait like a little pup
For spring to open its gate.
Old man winter is often rude
I think I’ve caught an attitude.
Soon will be summer
Then off I am again
Like the littlest drummer
Thumping the treasure beat of fenn!
I hope we all can feel that thump
In our hearts, and not our rump!
🙂
Just teasing. I’ve been so sad when it’s gray, and with all this work, no time to play…
🙂

My fellow searchers chiming in
On Poetry page IV
Have me cheering them all on
And always wanting more.

A friendly game of poker
Has been begun by 42.
I love pdenver’s observational skills
He has the backs of me and you.

Illinoisghost’s poem of searching
Will get us in the mood.
And even though she’s playing catch up,
Jdiggins poems are good

Lastly, in this poem I’ll mention
Debbie’s poetic wondering.
Surely she will have this gang
Of poets and subscribers pondering.

The friendly banter on this page
Is good fun and makes me giggle.
And until I can get out and search again
All I can do is sit and wiggle.

Thanks everyone for all the wise, funny, thought provoking poems. What a great group of folks! Dal,,,thanks for providing us with a place to share them. And Forrest,,, thanks for throwing us all together.

Tiny hands to grasp fingers and hair.
Small hands to gather dandelions and daisies.
Growing hands to catch fireflies and ladybugs.
Grown hands to have and to hold.
Mature hands to caress another’s most dear.

pdenver…Perhaps this comment will not show up under your “Hands of Time” poem…but I did want to comment on it.

I want to both tell you that I enjoyed your “time” poem AND share how much it drew me in…because of a poem I had almost forgotten about that I wrote more than 35 years ago. At the time, I was in the “middle”…between having young children and taking care of my own Mom.*

“Touching”…

Tiny hands, reaching out
To be guided
Up steps, across busy streets
FEELING SAFE, FEELING WARM
Mommy or Daddy by their side

Little hands, always busy
Have to learn
To touch, to play, explore
FEELING SAFE, FEELING WARM
Mom or Dad…always close by

Grown up hands, always working
So little time
To teach, to love, to share
FEELING SAFE, FEELING WARM
Holding children of their own

Wrinkled hands, reaching out
To be guided
Up steps, across busy streets
FEELING SAFE, FEELING WARM
Loving children at their side

*The cycles of life…ocean’s tides…it is important to feel their presence.

I also just read your “The Orchard” poem and my senses/memories are ripe with the essence of your pie.

As a shout out also to pdenver’s “Hands” poem…one of life’s simple joys is walking a path/trail through an orchard or the woods…holding the small hand of a child or grandchild, enjoying the moment together (sometimes in silence and others times with laughter)

I read from the beginning right thru to the end
The poem from the millionaire Forrest Fenn
The enticement is great
The allure of fate
Can this be for one and no more ?
Could fate have more to say than 4 ?
Searching high and searching low
We heard a sound when the wind blow
To stand right near Tarzans mount
To stand right near to marvel and count
Someday the treasure may be found or not
As a thousand years is quite alothttp://www.amazon.com/Johnny-Weissmuller-Tarzan-imprisoned-surround/dp/B00MWF370G

Under a cloud filled sky,
upon a mountain high,
sunbeams of light,
Heavens pillars so bright.

Crown of diamonds white,
the majesty of a mountains height,
and water flows thru veins of blue,
with a robe of pine green hue.

Valleys deep with age of time,
crag and stone ever sublime,
high walls of granite and quartz,
with deep lake is the mountain forts.

From heart deep underground,
comes the ore made so round,
mans desire coins of gold,
and the mountains pain so old.

The mountains wish for man,
to learn the real treasure if he can,
it is not what we take and make,
our treasure is in our hearts.
The treasure of the mountains,
is the beauty and majesty.
Placed in our hearts and minds,
thru our eyes is treasure taken.

Beautiful, Focused! I was going down Memory Lane with my mother and sisters as we walked through the apple orchards near our home. The sweet smells among the slight breeze. I can smell the warm scent of the apple pie now. I’d like a small slice if you’d like to share, please. Shall I bring a blanket for everyone to join? 🙂

Their not ready now swwot…….just thinking of warmer weather….gotta do something to help pass the winter months…..I hope it gave you thoughts of a warmer time……good luck to you swwot…until next time……..see ya

Focused – I enjoyed reading your ‘whispers from the ancients’ which is reminiscent of ff’s intro to his beautiful book “Historic American Indian Dolls”.

You may enjoy the following…

“There were no temples or shrines among us save those of nature…He who rides upon the rigorous wind of the north, or breathes forth His spirit upon aromatic southern airs, whose war canoe is launched upon majestic rivers – He needs no lesser cathedral.” – OHIYESA, DAKOTA

The Secrets of San Lazaro Pueblo is my favorite. The spirits from that place speak to me from the book in a way I will probably never get to discuss with anyone. I guess I’ll just talk to the stars since they listen the best.

I agree 23Kachinas. … I think it would be awesome to sit upon medicine rock in total silence and listen to the past ….the spirits of san Lazaro tug at me too……..Forrest is lucky to have spent so many years around that place…I could only imagine……good luck to you 23Kachinas while you chase your dreams. ….until next time……just listen……see ya

Hello 23Kachinas and Focused. You write some amazing poetry, Focused. I love reading it. (You too, Jdiggins et al.)
I am blessed to own a beautiful copy of Forrest’s book, “The Secrets of San Lazaro Pueblo”…courtesy of my wife’s artistic talent.
The Spirits of San Lazaro seem to call me, too. That looks like a very enchanted place. I would love to visit there one day…and find a high spot…like on top of Medicine Rock…and just listen.

Thanks JC1117 , I’m glad you liked key reading my words..thanks for the spiritual music, I loved it…. I don’t have the book ” Spirits of San Lazaro ” but everyone who talks about it says it’s great. And I’m sure it is…
Yes , I agree a moment in silence at San Lazaro , to me , would be amazing….maybe we could talk Forrest into taking us there JC1117.. 🙂 like a painter with his canvas , I would sit upon medicine rock and write what I hear……….. Sorry JC1117 , I took off dreaming again…..anyways, thank you and good luck to you on your chase….

JC1117 thank you for introducing me to the music of R. Carlos Nakai. I learned his His His “Earth Spirit” and “Canyon Trilogy” albums are the only Native American albums to be certified Gold by the RIAA. It’s all gold to me. People are our greatest treasures.

There are moments that always remain with us. For me, being somewhat older, the moment of JFK’s assassination will always leave a void, a pain, a question in my heart. I was a junior in High School and remember my Chemistry teacher’s words about what had happened. I’ve always wanted closure.

AND…living close to NYC…the moments of 9/11 are still very real.

Sad moments do slowly drift away…but, never completely. We live with them and perhaps are shaped by them. It is important to both feel and move forward.

Nice poem pdenver,,, those memories are still all too vivid in my mind.

Watching the lift-offs were always so exciting when I was a child that I grabbed my small son and sat cross-legged in front of the TV with him in my lap. Listening to mission control talking about the launch as we watched the Challenger debris trails was very surreal, sad and difficult to explain to a four year old.

As I plan my chase for gold this spring, outside frigid wind nips trees. A vale whispers to the wild goose on wing, to return swiftly with the southern breeze. Forlornly, the place where warm waters halt awaits, and snowy home of brown creates, anticipation in minds of all, treasure seekers large and small. Silent echoes of a time long past, morning to evening shadows cast their secrets in the canyon down, drawing me away from my busy hometown. – C.B.

Thank you pdenver. The words are not mine, but they echoed sweetly through my soul today. I plan to help her mom start a heart garden to keep memories alive. What the heart remembers serves as a balm of healing.

In the past Forrest has mentioned the person who finds his treasure chest will have ‘earned’ it, which can imply…will grieve; or a burial urn. I can’t help thinking the place is private/sacred – where Forrest wishes to take off on his final flight upon angel wings. It raises ethical and spiritual questions in an old softy like me. Not as simple as go claim the gold, even if I did know where to look.

Hello Lia. That is a nice gesture. I kept some of my mother’s clothes so that I may make a blanket and wrap it around myself; like a hug from her. I haven’t made it yet and it’s been three years. Time needs to heal the heart, no matter how long it takes.

Glad you enjoyed CB, JD. Enjoy your evening. If I’m gonna have a new solution ready to go this spring, I better get back to the poem. Think I’ll split my search efforts between Jackson Hole and a glaciated canyon near Helmet mountain in the Madison alluvial plain.

I have a special beak. I can get into the cones most Jays can’t. Pinon Pine, in particular.

The richest. Ahhh. But they are fickle. Whole valleys may make no pinons for years. We have to search in flights of 3 to 5, and regroup with parts of the other 10 flights, maybe with some Stellars, or Clarke’s to provide cover, just to find a flat with pinons you could eat. Not even worth caching.

We have secrets to caching our pinons. Nothing around much, no juicy sprouts. Turns out that is just where the pinon loves to take root, kinda off on its own. Good thing.

My problem with writing, composing, painting, and the like, is it usually results in something way too spartan or way too overdone.

When I hit the middle ground writing wise, I have often started with something awesome but in need of fleshing out a bit…the reader might not quite get the awesome importance of this paragraph here. Way over-fleshed-it-out, then deleted all the awesome stuff as “too in the weeds” and left the “fleshing out” with no context… rotting in the sun.

All IMHO, Yes, no games staight foward and does what all poems strive to do, make you feel some emotion or enlighten you about something, in this case, life is tuff but worth It ( and more), The thing it does other poem’s don’t do is of course give you locator clues to the treasure chest. But it does not take the whole poem to do that.
After studing the poem from another viepoint,
I now feel as if I have graduated from freshman literature class and philosophy class, Now I am ready for geography class and map reading. I have my 9 locator clues. Semicolon, and, but, helped me get there

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!

The first 2 lines of the last stanza somehow made me feel the “essence” of Jackie Kennedy in TFTW (page 149) when Forrest wrote:

“That she could move easily and with unlimited grace and poise among royalty…but could also take her shoes off and mingle with art dealers and cowboys who wore the trappings of a life she was comfortable being around.”

I remember, when I first started this treasure journey, I read about Rudyard Kipling visiting Yellowstone (via the spur of the Northern Pacific) in 1889 and even stopped along the way to fish with Yankee Jim George. His tales are found in “From Sea to Sea: Letters of Travel, Volume Two”

Spallies as far as I know we don’t have a limit on how many characters can be in a comment and don’t have a way to control the number of characters in a comment. I will check into it, but I don’t think it’s anything on this end.

Mine was doing that also on the last odds and ends, when Dal started a new one it went away. A glitch maybe, it is frustrating to write a comment only to discover you can not find the post comment button.
jl

Hello JL. This happened to me a few times over the past couple days or so, too. Typed in my comment as usual, only to watch the reply section shrink and no longer show the “Post Comment” button. I would go back, refresh the page and try again, most times with success. I enjoy reading Focused’s poetry, along with others. I’m sure Dal and Goofy will find the hiccup and give it a small dose of sugar to have it go away. 🙂

Thanks goofy, it must be a glitch on my end. I just couldn’t understand why a short comment would post but not a longer one. Thank you everyone for your encouraging words. And thank you goofy for your prompt response…I will keep trying. I have more poetry …if I can get them posted….good luck everyone , and be safe chasing your dreams…… see ya

Focused, a few times when people had trouble posting they were copying directly from a word processor (Word) vs. a text editor, and posting it into the comment. Word processors put a lot of extra characters in a document (formatting etc.) and sometimes (not all times) wordpress doesn’t like them. There are no error messages to the poster and we don’t get a notice of anything here, it just doesn’t post.

Some searchers are honest, smart, and solemn
While others are very much like Gollum
Whom smeagal became when putting on the ring
Lusting after gold like snakes that sting
Saying, “Indugence my precious”,
And turning into someone reckless.
Remember what became of him?
A warning to be fair not grimm,
Cheaters in the end don’t win.
They rott away behind bars of iron
As the righteous attain their hearts desire.

That’s a nice compliment pdenver 🙂 I suppose that’s the goal of every writer, to draw the reader into their poem or story to the point their mind overlooks grammar. Some people may not like my observations, but it’s true. Let’s face it, the day will come when the announcement is made and the chase officially ends. What will the Gollum types do when that happens? Will they accept the game is over? Some feel entitled to let honest people do all the work then steal from them. There needs to be a 1-800-BETS-OFF for those types. I caught hackers in my private email recently and I’m pretty stirred up about it. Here’s a couple of links about how this can happen and how to prevent it. Feel free to pass these on to your friends and familly…http://blog.winhost.com/how-did-my-email-account-get-hacked/http://www.wikihow.com/Protect-Your-Email-Account-from-Hackers

Hello C.B.. This is an interesting post. I believe you may be correct in what you’ve stated. I have to believe in human kindness and the good in this world. We’re all given the chance to participate in this chase. It is up to each of us to try to figure out what the poem means. Thank you for the post for the email protection. I’ll forward it to others. 🙂

I believe in human kindness and good in the world too until something bad happens to prove me wrong. Then my give a dam breaks. Thank you for sharing those links. It’s easy to assume our email connections are private, and everyone is fair and honest like us. I wish that were always true.

I copied and pasted one of my older poems ” note to cancer ” and it posted..but all of newer poems will paste into the comment box, then when i hit submit it seems to act normal but doesn’t post….I can post short stuff all day long, but not any newer poem of length …….any ideas anybody ?

Hello Kedar’s Mom. Thank you for your kind words. I greatly appreciate them. I’m not 100% positive, but I think you might be able to click on to your avatar and change it. I notice mine while I’m typing this to you. Just to the left of your email address is your avatar. Click the avatar and I think something might pop up where it gives instructions how to change it. If not, Dal or others may know better. 🙂

Thanks Denver! You know when I see the word Denver, it never reminds me of Colorado. It actually makes me think of this cartoon I used to watch as a kid, called Denver the last dinosaur. I miss that show.

Hello Hammertime. You’re welcome. I’m glad Colorado comes to mind when you see Denver. It’s beautiful here and I hope you get the chance to come here, if you haven’t already. I watched a lot of cartoons when I was a kid and Denver the Last Dinosaur doesn’t come to mind. I guess it’s time to look it up because you’ve caught my curiosity. I was a Bugs Bunny and Flintstones kind of kid. 🙂

Sometimes when the game is played and things look dicey,
a joker shows up and claims all is not so nicey.
In games, the joker can burst tears forto a winning hand,
but in life, only tribuelation offers a closing stand.

So what if it were never so?
The answer sadly we will never know.
But, the sun has risen again today
so I can go out and continue to play.

If Hoyle can’t sort it out. Who can? I say
Maybe this guy, a song, and a heart to pray.

The following poem is by Focused…not by dal. Focused is experiencing problems posting some poems and this is one. So I am posting it to see if there is a problem when I try. dal-

———-

Legends

Just sitting here reflecting back, to legends no longer here,
With Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata, playing to my ears.
Thinking about the brush strokes, and Mona Lisa’s smile,
By Leonardo Da Vinci, who’s been a legend for a while.

Many great poets, dipped their quill, in ink wells years ago,
To create masterpieces like The Raven, by Edgar Allen Poe.
Thought provoking words, we’ve loved through out the years,
Mere players upon a worldly stage, written by William Shakespeare.

Many poets, shared their work, since they first began,
But Emily Dickinson, in her closet, hid most all of them.
I could keep on going, about poets and their ways,
And how they took their thoughts, and wrote them on a page.

There was also legend Chiefs, that walked upon this land,
Geronimo and Crazy Horse, were two that walked back then.
Like Sitting Bull they wanted peace, to rest upon their people,
Not forced away to distant lands, and forced in Spanish steeples.

George Washington, our founding father, came over on a boat,
With visions for a better place, that we can call our home.
There’s legends all around us, that made their mark back then,
Thank you for your visions, your a Legend Forrest Fenn.

Thank you Dal for your help, for some reason I could not get this one to post. Seems like when there’s a wrinkle in something , you always find a way to iron it out. Thanks for everything you do here Dal. Have a great day and good luck to ya in your chase. Thanks again for the help……. See ya

Focused – FWIW – a couple of months ago I was also having problems posting long posts. I figured it was a Linux/Firefox issue. Not sure if it’s been fixed as I have not been on for a loooooong time because of work – crazy hours. Went 27 days straight at one point in the stretch. Thanx Dal for all you do!

Great Poetry, Focused. I never had the opportunity to meet Renelle in this life…but I can sense her sweet nature from her photos and the way that others speak about her. It is sad that she is no longer here with us…but she is clearly not forgotten…in this valley of tears. I’m positive she’s in better place.

Your poem title, “Memories of Color” made me think of this beautiful song by Vangelis.

Focussed, that was a very nice way to keep Renelle’s lovely spirit alive here.

She appeared to be a beauty inside and out. I’m glad Forrest made the heli trip possible for Renelle so she could tuck that memory in her heart for her ride on angels wings up and away to heaven. From stories about her, it was easy to see how much she loved hiking in the mountains. If they are but God’s foot stool’s here, imagine exploring the majestic peaks in Heaven without blisters. If my cancer returns, I will be glad to see Renelle’s smiling face. Maybe we’ll finally be filled with knowledge and wisdom to solve fenn’s poem…but will no longer care about earth’s gold.

😉 Focussed. I genuinely enjoy your creative ideas and beautiful use of language expressed in poetry. Thanks for taking time to think, create, and write for our enjoyment. They carry me away from the city to another time and place, sometimes humorous, sometimes sentimental, always well spoken.
(And today they appear to have green smudges) 🙂

The treasure called to me, I knew that I could find it.
All the amazing sites to see, I must take off these blinders.
It would be such a shame to stay so single minded.
I told them, “Come with me kids, come with me dear!”,
“Let’s go and get that treasure!”
So we loaded up the car and we are in San Dieger 🙂

P.s. – the inspiration for this poem came from a Georgia O’Keeffe
Painting titled ” Jimson Weed / White flower No. 1 ” dated 1932.
Look it up I think you will like it too. I wanted to visualize the moment
it was painted, from the flowers Point of view.

Your welcome Ellen, I’m glad you could see the picture I was trying to paint in words…. I wonder what was the real setting when she painted it? Anyways, thank you for the kind comment….until next time….see ya

I met the wife of Dennis an artist that makes glass + 24k gold sculptures. He makes animal shapes and sometimes uses manzanita wood as a stand for his creations. He is sick right now so they could probably use some more sales. The prices are reasonable $22+ for each piece.

If your in the CA or NV area of the art fairs go find yourself one of his treasures. I found a set of 3 hummingbirds to take home.

From his website:
We are the original creators of Golden Glass Sculptures. The radiant shades of colors, flowing in brilliant hues, are created by applying pure gold to molten glass. The unique way we have discovered to apply 24kt gold to molten glass reflects the true colors that are found in pure gold. We get up to seven different colors from the gold. All the blue, purple, lavender, aqua, pink and red colors are actually gold.

My high school friend who recently lost her husband posted this, I thought it was beautiful:

“Everyone must leave something behind when he dies, my grandfather said. A child or a book or a painting or a house or a wall built or a pair of shoes made. Or a garden planted. Something your hand touched some way so your soul has somewhere to go when you die, and when people look at that tree or that flower you planted, you’re there.

It doesn’t matter what you do, he said, so long as you change something from the way it was before you touched it into something that’s like you after you take your hands away. The difference between the man who just cuts lawns and a real gardener is in the touching, he said. The lawn-cutter might just as well not have been there at all; the gardener will be there a lifetime.”

Focused, thanks for your poem “The Golden Hour” which was hugely enjoyable in a quiet way. The Green River rock formations look spectacular. When I looked up Mount Moran, which is a different location, it quickly went to the top of my bucket list. Look at this jaw-dropping marvel gaze.

Thanks Anna for your kind comment…. I love the pic of mount Moran . As far as I’m concerned it doesn’t get any better than that….thank you for the link. Be safe this summer while you chase your dreams… Until next time Anna, see ya

Thank you again strawshadow for the compliment. There are alot of kind people here, a great bunch of fenners.you being one too strawshadow. As far as thoughtful input……like I’ve said , before I got involved in the chase, I never wrote a poem before,Now I’m just enjoying the chase that Forrest has given us. I am glad you lIke my words….be safe this summer, and good luck to ya strawshadow while you chase your dreams…..until next time ,see ya

Before I was born I was water.
I thought of this sitting on a blue
chair surrounded by pink, red, white
hollyhocks In the yard in front
of my green studio. There are conclusions
to be drawn but I can’t do it anymore.
Born man, child man, singing man,
dancing man, loving man, old man,
dying man. This is a round river
and we are her fish who become water.

Hello to all my fellow poetry lovers. I ran across this lovely poem today and want to share it with you. Enjoy…

If – by Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!

Good evening Jdiggins, I’m sorry you are struggling. You have online friends here who miss you! Keep your eyes up… focus with hope on peace. Struggle is never enjoyable. Do you have family to lean upon?

Focused, 23k , lia, you are so kind.
Trust me, IL be ok, been here before.
You are always on my mind,
And in my heart ever more.

I have a few family close by, but I’m in a situation that does not allow much contact with anyone.
Maybe I have gone nuts !
Like I said. I’m a big girl. I can make it, either way, this funk will not stay.

Please keep writing your words all…
It is truly helpful.
All my best, I have to sign off for now.
Until next time…see ya! 🙂 xo

Within the eyes of Solitude lies a distant plane of existence. It is one barren of sympathy, remorse, laughter and love. There is nothing but a blank void of loneliness. If you look closely within the dark recesses of her mind, you will find memories of happier days filled with laughter and sunshine. Now, only misery fills the empty spaces.

Within the eyes of Solitude you can see the shadow of her gentle heart. She reaches out to those who have lost and gathers them to her. Standing by their side, she keeps them warm and safe from harm of other’s twisted words and vicious actions.

Within the eyes of Solitude lies a vast world that only she can see. It is a world known only by her and those she chooses. Solitude is often misunderstood. But then again, so are we all.
______
I love and miss you my friend.

This is the spot:—how mildly does the sun
Shine in between the fading leaves! the air
In the habitual silence of this wood
Is more than silent: and this bed of heath,
Where shall we find so sweet a resting-place?
Come!—let me see thee sink into a dream
Of quiet thoughts,—protracted till thine eye
Be calm as water when the winds are gone
And no one can tell whither.—my sweet friend!
We two have had such happy hours together
That my heart melts in me to think of it.

A touch
Electric
Courses up my hand
Into my arm
My vision swims
The room tilts
And all that I see
Is you

My lips part
Wanting to speak
Wanting to touch
Wanting to feel
As I have not felt
In too many years

Your arm
Reaches for mine
A gentle touch
Upon the elbow
You lean closer
My heart is all I hear
Your eyes all I see
Your touch all I feel
And I close my eyes
Part my lips
Take a deep breath
To still this reaction
This primal yearning
That overcomes me

I feel your breath
Taste your lips
As your arm circles around my waist
And you pull me to you
Closer to you
As I have never been
Never dreamed
Never wanted
Until the gentle touch
Of your hand
Upon mine
That awoke this inside of me
This passion
This yearning
This never ending pain
That has been healed
By you
For you
From you

Your hand
Reaching for me
Solidifying me
Keeping me
Touching me
As you move
Up my spine
To my shoulders
And the curve of my neck
Touching
Feeling
Yearning
For there to be more
Yet knowing
That this is all we have
All we need
All we could be

Your lips
Soft
Your warmth
Electric
And I hope
Dream
Dare
Plead
That this kiss
So simple
Will never end
And your touch
Will never cease
And this passion
This reality
Will never end

Hello Focused. You’re quite talented with your penning. I like it. Just this evening, my youngest daughter and I were talking about how quickly time is going by. She’ll be graduating and “flying the coop” soon after.

Thank you pdenver, I’m glad you like my penning. My youngest daughter is still at home too. She is in her 2nd year of college. Yes it quickly goes by… Enjoy your time with your daughter pdenver. The two of you need to take it slow and as Forrest would say ” smell the sunshine “. See ya my friend….

Loved your poetic advice Focussed. Today, I actually exited the rat race and lived at a slower pace…enjoying every moment of sunshine upon my face.

Jim Croce’s ‘Time in a Bottle’ is one of the best songs ever written. Thanks pdenver. Also enjoyed Paul Anka’s Memories. Thanks all friends here for capping off a memorable day – minus the nascar helmet 😉

Thanks SL I liked that one too….it goes with my poem, if you live to fast you won’t remember all the memories of your life…….you gotta slow down and soak in each day…thanks again SL…good luck to you while you chase your dreams…see ya

Sitting here waiting on the weather.
Little to do, I’d try to be clever.
I began by seeking Mr. Fenn’s riches
because i’m in need of new britches.
But the sad look in his eye’s,
To dig where a grave lies.
I had to do what i could,
For a man that wanted to do good.
Warm Waters, my trivia players never got.
Silence is Golden. listen one might learn alot.
I worked my clue’s, found a blaze.
Sorry to say no chest in my gaze.
Speechless and beside myself, I am now hooked.
New words more clues, my next outing booked.
If good luck will be with me.
I’ll honor his wish for all to see.
Don’t rush into the chase.
Be safe in seeking the case.
To all that are Great web hosts.
Forrest, Dal and Jenny Thank You for the posts.

Good morning all. Speaking of songs, this one, to me, embodies a central theme in Forrest’s poem: the ones he loves (his family and friends) are safe in his heart, and the heart or spirit go on forever.

You’re welcome, my friend. I’m not sure if I want to go back on a horse. The first and last time I was on one, I gave the poor horse mixed signals. Going down a very steep, rocky mountain, I felt as if I was going to slide off the saddle. I ended up leaning back against his back, pulling on the reigns and slighting kicking the horse’s side to move. I think the horse should have bucked me off and tell me, “No fools allowed on my back.” lol

My father who is known as a skilled cattleman in our home town used to ride the “Old Wooded Mare” and complain about her, she had her own mind and nothing made him and Grandpa madder. I never had an issue with her, I’ve ridden many a trail chasing cattle in my teens upon that glorious animal. I miss her sometimes when I’m home riding the range in four wheels.

That mare was my Modigliam (‘aka’ favorite horse) and I’m glad they didn’t sell her. Sometimes I go visit her bones by the old indian trail no one knows about but me and my family. Also buried there was Chief (dad’s favorite paint horse) and many animals that fell ill to various misfortures of farm life.

Good horses leave fond memories, thanks 23kachinas for sharing your memory. Something about a horse you break yourself that makes them more special…….good luck to you in your chase…until next time….see ya

Focussed & 23kachinas – thanks for sharing great memories, poems & artwork. I’ve never had a pony or roped a stallion; so it’s entertaining to hear your stories. CMR’s terrific storytelling ability is evident in his clever titles. He occasionally painted in a small log studio at the corner of 6th & Rodney St. in Helena, Mt. My grandfather was a young man who delivered Western Union telegrams at the time. He knew Charlie Russell.

Poker or Canasta?
Which rules Fenn’s game?
His epigraph guarantees
no loot or fame.
If it’s thrills you seek,
shuffle the deck.
Adventure inherent,
So, what the heck.

2 bit rules
For C A N A S T A:
Two decks shuffled fair.
Six players roped in pairs.
Black twos cinch the snares.
Red threes light the wild scene.
Opon a partner you silently lean.
Collecting two dirty and two clean,
With the stack, surely you’ll meld,
Oops, not what my partner held.
Seven magically sets the run;
But a pair needs 4 to Be done.
As your hand grows shallow,
One question is allowed…
Partner, may I go out?
If the answer is no,
Please don’t pout.
Patience pays
Dividends
Without
doubt.

Sadly…I will have to travel abroad to feel the experience of your ‘moment’ someday for myself.

Perhaps…sometime in the future…my grandchildren’s grandchildren will experience your poem here at our home. I will have to create that special “box” and directions or a map for the chosen person to find in time. To touch, to see, to feel…

Thank you Ellen for your kind words… I know your grandchildren’s grandchildren will enjoy the moment that you prepared for them…..I’m glad I could inspire you to create your box….good luck to you in your chase Ellen. …until next time… see ya my friend….

In the end you put on your hat and spurs,
AND you end up Dancing with the Stars anyway.

COWBOY CODE OF ETHICS

– Live each day with honesty and courage.
– Take pride in your work.
– Always do your best.
– Stay curious and open minded.
– Study hard and learn all you can.
– Do what has to be done and finish what you start.
– Be tough, but fair.
– When you make a promise, keep it.
– Be honest in thought. word and deed.
– Practice tolerance and understanding.
– Be willing to stand up for what’s right.
– Be an excellent steward of the land and its animals.
– Put the welfare your family above your own.
– Remember that some things aren’t for sale.

An excellent list 23kachinas. Being raised around cowboys in Wyoming, one more thing stood out about their conduct. They stand up for their friends – and will stop others from speaking poorly of friends behind their back. Similar to what soldiers in the field do to protect their wingman or platoon.
Gossip serves no one – except the old biddies.

With a pretty name like Ellen, you must agree…it’s important to find the missing E.
If it flies on past, you’ll be wandering. Quickly grab that banana. Voila! you have to be fast!
Thank you Vanna for turning a vowel. Now all I must do is locate a trowel. A collection of 4 shovels I have acquired. When the number reaches 6 I may retire. My next foray will come one day as I travel a solemn road, down the halls of a museum bearing heavy loads.

Thanks CindyM, well I live 800 miles away from the rocky mountains, and I have taken 21 trips. So far , I have logged over 40,000 miles in my attempt to solve the poem. Who knows? I may have another 100,000 to go. but one thing for sure. I’m having a blast in doing so. and somewhere in the middle of all this I seem to find time to write a few poems for everyone to enjoy…..I believe the phrase ” I’ve done it tired” is beginning to sink in….. Thanks CindyM for all your kind words…. see ya my friend…. 🙂

Besides our journeys to our special search spots…I suspect Forrest knew he could also, through his poem, be reaching across many miles to give a journey/search of sorts into ourselves.

While striving to solve/decode a particular part of the poem that has eluded explanation…one can accidentally/serendipitously unfold the key to the meaning/reason for a life event that has for so long…shadowed one…and even to the point of being overwhelming/suffocating. Hoping that understanding is a bond to final closure.

And also…thank you Focused, pdenver and Anna for the nice comments above.

Ellen, that is how I read the first line of the poem. As I have gone alone in there…to me, means you journey inward, alone. Ah, the solitude of being in nature. Perfect setting for the self reflective journey.

Very nice poem whitebear,,,it makes me smile thinking about how much time dads spend baiting hooks, untangling lines and such. Just knowing that you loved that special time proves he made a wise investment 🙂